I had an easy sitting job for Mr Peters. He was the last of the people that I still sat for. Mainly because no-one else wanted the job. Even though he paid regular rates most people just didn't seem to get on too well with his girls. Maybe because of their crappy habits.
A bit about me. The name's Beth, I'm eighteen, nearly nineteen, average height, decent bosom and tush, and a reasonable waist. Not an hour-glass figure but who want to look like a reject from the cartoon factory? I have a figure that's suitable to a girl my age, better than most but not super-star material.
Mr Peters is a nice guy, early thirties, is my guess. I wouldn't call him classically handsome but he's not bad looking. He's quite fit, too, but I suppose he has to be to keep up with his girls. Character wise I'd put him a bit on the stodgy side.
His girls are all three years of age. Full grown monsters, is what they are. Pure bred Alaskan Malamutes, they need a lot of exercise and eat like three young horses, carnivorous horses. I get on extremely well with them. They love me and know they have to obey me. The one time Mr Peters arranged for another sitter they ran riot. When she took them down to the dog park they took off in three different directions, totally ignoring her. She rang me in tears and I had to go around and bring them to heel.
Every few months Mr Peters would go on a business trip for a week or so. He could take the dogs to a boarding kennel but it's rather expensive. (I think they ate the last kennel he used.) That's where I come in. I'd drop past in the morning to feed them and again in the evening to take them for a run at the dog park for an hour and put them through their tricks and then feed them again. The idea is to keep their training fresh and to run them ragged. Good for them and also good for keeping me fit. The only irritating part of the job is cleaning up their crap after them. They don't only eat like horses.
I'd just returned from the dog park and let the beasts into their dog run. (Don't go thinking small run. Their run was twice the size of the full block I lived on. Fortunately they have been trained to consider one corner their toilet which make cleaning up after them a lot easier.) I decided I'd better check the food supply. Mr Peters normally leaves ample but it doesn't hurt to keep an eye on it. The food supply was kept in the house, naturally. Keep it outside and the dogs would figure out how to get at it.
The back door was unlocked which surprised me. I could have sworn I locked it when I got the food earlier. I made a note to be more careful and went waltzing into the kitchen.
"Oh. Mr Peters. I thought you wouldn't be back until tomorrow."
"Beth," he said with a nod. "I made better time than I thought. How're the girls. Want a cool drink?" He indicated a jug of something cold. I could see the dew on the jug.
"Wouldn't mind one," I admitted. "It was a warm day and chasing three monsters around was hot work. The girls are fine, obedient and sedate."
I heard his derisive snort at that. Obedient if you watched them. Sedate only if unconscious. I'd turned and reached up to the glasses cupboard for a glass for my drink. When I turned back Mr Peters seemed to turn his head quickly. Had he been checking out my tush?
Despite the warmth I was wearing yoga-pants. I like them and they stop the dogs scratching me. I was suddenly aware that they also showed off my gluteus maximus to some advantage.
I blame that sudden awareness for the accident. I put my glass down on the table and it promptly started to fall over. I'd accidentally put it on the edge of something. Teach me for not looking. I caught the impression of it toppling and made a lightning grab for it, missing by yea much. I effectively ended up punching the glass and sending it sailing across the room to land on the floor and smash.
"Sorry," I said quickly. "I'll just clean that up."
Mr Peters demurred but I had broken it and I knew where the dustpan and brush were so I grabbed them and quickly swept up the glass. It wasn't until I was tipping the glass into the rubbish bin that it occurred to me that if Mr Peters had been eyeing my bottom when I reached for the glass, what had he been doing when I bent over to sweep it up? I could almost feel a blush sweeping across my face.
"Sorry," I said again, getting a fresh glass and not breaking it.
He just waved it off.
"I call them breakables. They're cheap and I buy them a dozen at a time so who cares if one breaks. Forget it."
I nodded as I drank my drink, looking ostentatiously around the room.
"Ah, looking for something?" he asked.
"Just checking to make sure there isn't a rolled up newspaper in easy reach," I said innocently, referring to the paper he would rap against the dog's noses if he had to.
He laughed. "Your nose may be a little on the large size," he said amiably, "but the girls have you beat there."
I gave him an indignant look as I rose to put my glass on the sink. On the large size indeed.
"Of course," he happily continued, "I could always apply a swift boot to the bum which is something the girls might cop, but perhaps not appropriate in your case."
He was back to my bottom again. I glowered at him to show I was not amused. He was.
"Perhaps a simple smack on the bottom. Trouble is I'm too lazy to deliver one right now. Why don't you do it for me?"
The devil made me do it. That's the only explanation for what I did. I was standing a little too far off for him to reach me and I just turned and bent slightly so that my bottom stuck out and I gave it a casual slap.
"Do you mean like this," I said innocently, "or like this?" With that I pushed my yoga-pants down far enough to expose my buttocks and dropped another quick slap, and then I was hauling my yoga-pants back into place tout suite.
I ran into an immediate problem. They didn't want to come back up. Probably because Mr Peters moved faster and with a longer reach than I expected, and his fingers had hooked over my yoga-pants and were holding them down. Not just my yoga-pants, as my panties had gone down with them, even though I hadn't intended that. And if that wasn't bad enough guess what his knuckles were pressed against.
He quite effortlessly pulled me closer while turning me to face him. I was giggling and trying to pull my things up but he has a firm grip.
